Ten Times
by Seahorse von Schweetz
Summary: Ten times they saw each other, ten times they loved each other.
1. Chapter 1

Montfermeil is a very small and peaceful suburb located only half an hour away from the center of Paris. It is a very forested zone and a beautiful place were the Enjolras family had one of their many properties: a not so humble villa with all the imaginable commodities and more. Anyhow, regardless of how fantastic the place was, it was abandoned almost all year round. The family, composed of only three members, would only use it on very especial occasions.

Madame Enjolras was almost always unavailable. The grueling life of a socialite was certainly time consuming. Monsieur Enjolras, a very rich but simple man, preferred to please his wife, staying with her and accompanying her to every event. Regardless of the hysterical ways that drove him and his son mad, Monsieur Enjolras father could only see the good in her. The son, who everyone simply called Enjolras, cherished the peace of Montfermeil with a burning passion. He loved the silence, the absence of social events, the serenity with which he could seat down to read or think, the way he could clearly look at the stars at night, the freedom to horse ride alone. He adored Paris but hated the phoniness and agitation around him.

That's why, for his fifteenth birthday, he asked his parents to let him go with his best friends, Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Marius, to his personal heaven. The mother stayed behind, preferring to go to Milan Fashion Week instead. His father, for the first time disappointed with his wife, acceded to his son's request. Soon, the man drove the four kids in his Ferrari through miles and miles of forest, passing through the streets of village were people stared in awe.

On June fifth, Enjolras' birthday, his father appeared with a new horse for him, an splendid creature of black and terse skin brought directly from the Arabian Peninsula. The boy was not exactly the materialistic type, but he was certainly excited to have a new companion for his rides, which he would use to escape from his mother and her comments, his father and his eternal patience with her and a loneliness buried in his heart. As he peacefully covered the vast extension of his property and its immediate surroundings, he would reflect upon many different things, like the hurting fact that the servants were secretly afraid of him or the way he felt that he, along with his friends and everyone around him, was awkwardly changing.

In the evening, after they had all eaten enough cake, played with almost every video game they had brought and talked about their different questions and dilemmas, Enjolras challenged his friends to a horse race. Everyone agreed, but shivered when their friend asked for his saddle to be put on his new stallion.

"Son, this horse is not completely tamed," Émile, the old man that worked on the stables, alerted him, "the next time you come, I'll have it ready for you."

"Monsieur Émile, just today! It's my birthday!" The boy pleaded but the man refused, bringing up the topic of security.

"What would Monsieur Enjolras do to me if his only and beloved son fell from this wild beast and killed himself? Siberia wouldn't be far enough to hide my sorry self!" The man commented with humor as he helped the boy to his french horse, who got older and slower with every passing season.

"Horses are not toys," Monsieur Émile reminded his young boss. Enjolras sighed loudly as to prove he had renounced to his purposes. Anyhow, he waited until the stableman's scrawny figure disappeared on the back of the stable. The boy, who was too headstrong, jumped from his horse and took the saddle away from it, putting it on the new Arab equine, which neighed in response.

"Enjolras you should listen to Monsieur Émile," Combeferre advised.

"It might be dangerous," Courfeyrac reasoned.

"You don't know how it might react. What if you fall?," Marius added.

The blond boy didn't reply and finished adjusting the saddle, taking the reins of his new magnificent animal.

"On your marks," he said.

Marius swallowed hard.

"Get set," he continued.

Combeferre sent him a reproving glance.

"GO!" he shouted as he pulled the reins.

The horse galloped quickly out of the stables, taking Enjolras almost by surprise. His three friends followed behind, calling him out, warning him in fear. They were soon left behind as the animal jumped the low fence that separated the property and the forest, taking the young horseman into the unknown. Enjolras didn't know how to stop him, trying every trick he knew. He cursed under his breath for his stupidity and hoped that the animal got tired soon.

When the colt finally picked up a slower pace, Enjolras didn't know how to go back to the villa. He was lost and alone. Although he wouldn't admit it later, he was starting to feel scared. He realized how little he knew about his surroundings. All of this made him feel foolish. And oh! How did he hate to feel foolish.

Suddenly, he heard a voice in the distance, a song, a very beautiful song that he had never heard but called his attention immediately.

_At last my love has come along_

_My lonely days are over_

_And life is like a song_

He followed the voice, finally taking the lead of the horse. He saw two girls leaning against the trunk of a big a fir. One of them, the youngest one, was a mess of tangled auburn ringlets who pressed her face on the oldest girl's shoulder. The oldest girl, a charming brunette of bright brown eyes and freckles, happened to be the owner of the voice. She stopped singing as soon as she felt someones presence, revealed by certain horse's constant bellows.

Enjolras tried to be polite and smile at her. However, his good intentions were interrupted when his horse reared violently several times. The brunette and her redhead companion stared wide eyed as Enjolras took a tight grip on the reins, trying to calm the beast and not to fall.

The animal continued kicking and rearing until Enjolras was sent flying from his seat. He fell on his back, managing to put a hand on the back of his neck. He could barely opened his eyes to see the blurry figure of his wild black horse disappearing in the distance.

"Stupid horse," he thought, closing his eyes again. He didn't want to move, sensing that he had broken at least a couple of bones. The penetrating smell of blood made him expect the worst. As Monsieur Émile's words rushed back to his mind, his pride prohibited him from facing the consequences of his stubbornness.

He heard two people whispering and felt the warmness of another body very near him. His eyes fluttered open, this time facing the worried expression of the brunette whose voice had captivated him. As soon as she realized he had reacted, she looked away, addressing someone out of Enjolras' line of vision.

"Azelma, stay with him while I go for help," she commanded in a quivering voice. She was about to stand up when he, in a painful reflex action, grabbed her wrist.

"S...ing. Sing to me," he managed to whisper, feeling ridiculous a few seconds later. The girl thought for a second.

"Azelma, you go and find help," she told, once again, to the figure he couldn't see. Anyhow, he imagined the small auburn haired gal that accompanied the singer.

"Éponine! It will take me forever to go to the inn," she whined.

Éponine seemed to be thinking hard again. "Do you remember that pretty house I showed you last week? The villa with horses and a swimming pool?"

The other girl, Azelma, nodded, a response that Enjolras couldn't see.

"Can you get there?"

Azelma nodded once again, making a mental map of the way to the breath taking house.

"Go there and ask for help. Tell them what you saw and they'll come with you," she instructed.

Enjolras heard some quick steps moving away.

"DON'T TAKE LONG!" Éponine shouted.

"I WON'T. I PROMISE!" The girl's shrieking voice was almost inaudible.

Soon they were alone. Éponine's every instinct told her to move away from him, to wait until Azelma came with help. Anyhow, her heart prohibited from doing so, making her worry with the helplessness of his demeanor.

"Are you alright?" she asked, thinking it was the stupidest question she could've asked at the moment.

"Sure...falling of a horse is just a particular hobby," he joked, making her giggle.

She sat down by his side and took off the light blue cardigan she was wearing, breaking a piece of the sleeve to clean the blood from his face. The boy smiled at her and she beamed right back, revealing an adorable dimple on either side of her wide smile. She sighed in relief upon realizing that the bleeding came from a very small opening in his forehead.

"It'll heal fast," she reassured him while tying the rest of her carding around his head.

"I'm glad," he said. "My name is Enjolras, by the way."

She snorted loudly. "Your name is Enjolras?"

The boy rolled his eyes. "That's my last name and nickname because I hate my given name."

"I'm not judging," she answered amusedly, "I'm Éponine."

"Éponine," he tried, instantly liking the sound of it.

"How old are you?" she asked him.

"Turned 15 today," he answered, "What about you?"

"I'm 14."

That's how it started. Enjolras described his friends to her. He told her about the ways in which they would sabotage the classes of the most tyrant teachers, recalling anecdotes and memories from great laughs, protests and, most of all, late afternoon punishments. He told her about life in Paris, trying to recall every little detail for her to draw a mental map of it.

"Walking through Trocadéro at night...is like arriving to the doors of heaven," he said, making her smile widely once again.

"If I go to Paris...will you show this to me?" she asked candidly. It was his turn to smile.

"I promise I will."

Éponine described her life at her parents' inn with a metaphor he wouldn't forget.

"In music, a bagatelle is a short, agile composition. It has no mayor pretenses, intricate trimmings or fixings. But it is still beautiful to play and to listen. My life at the is a daily bagatelle. Sure, I would like to have the newest computer or a better phone. I would love to travel, to visit places in which I could have better music lessons. But that doesn't mean my life is completely miserable," she said.

As the sun started to hide, Éponine laid by his side on the grass. "Azelma is taking long...are you sure you're okay? I can go and try to hurry them..."

"It's better if you stay with me," he said while blushing.

Encouraged by Enjolras, she told him about her family. She described her father, who was a disorganized but loving man, although she was very brief in flattering him. She extended on talking about her mother, an upper class like him and an opera singer who had given everything up for love. He realized how much she loved her by the way she talked, the amount of adjectives she used, the way she added that she owed her biggest passion to her. She then told him about her sister, Azelma, and her newborn brother, Gabriel, who everyone called Gavroche.

Enjolras opened his heart to her, elaborating on the lonely life of a single child. He told her about his father, who he admired and criticized in unequal proportions. Then, he replayed for her the frustrating situation with his mother, who he described as a hysteric and a reincarnation of Marie Antoinette.

"Don't you think she has a good heart?" Éponine asked.

"I'm sure she does...buried miles deep under a pile of clothing from Milan Fashion Week," he answered. They both laughed loudly.

Enjolras almost forgot about the reason that had him there, thrown on the grass like a rag doll. He was instantly reminded of it when he tried to move closer to Éponine and winced with the pain. She grabbed his hand and they intertwined their fingers.

"I hope it's nothing too bad," she said sincerely.

To try to focus her attention on something else, Enjolras talked about his dreams and passions. He told her he wanted to help people, to be the voice for those who didn't have a voice. He expected a witty comment in response, but Éponine simply complemented the beauty of his project and also shared her dream with him.

"I want to be a singer but not one without a purpose. I want my voice to convey what people feel about life, about love, about... I don't know yet. Maman understand me and tells me to dream. Papa laughs."

"Who cares if he laughs? My mother also laughs at my dreams. She says that I'm a hippie, which wouldn't bother me if her connotation of hippie didn't mean weed smoker of unacceptable behavior."

He could almost hear her giggles on his head, which both pleased him and confused him.

"Hey Éponine," he said after a small comfortable silence.

"Yes?"

"You haven't sing for me," he almost reproached.

"What do you want me to sing?"

"I don't know, you're the singer".

_I found a dream that I can speak to_  
><em>A dream that I can call my own<em>  
><em>I found a thrill to press my cheek to<em>  
><em>A thrill I've never known<em>

Éponine's voice engulfed him. He closed his eyes and let himself go, imagining situations and scenarios. Éponine felt she now had a very special reason to sing that song, a jazz that referenced a new found love. She blushed while singing, especially when Enjolras started caressing her hand with his thumb.

"ÉPONINE!" a little voice said from a distance, making both Enjolras and Éponine open their eyes immediately. Éponine sat up, her hand still intertwined with Enjolras'.

"Azelma, you're finally back! Why did it take you so long?" Éponine asked.

"I got lost," she said sheepishly. Éponine sighed.

"But then I found the house and the servants sent me from one place to the other until we found a very elegant monsieur, who was like crazy. He started calling everywhere, fighting over the phone. There were also three boys who wanted to know what happened to you. I had to repeat the story many times and then the monsieur told me to wait for him because some medics were coming from Paris or something. We waited and now they're coming, they were just behind -" her story was interrupted by Enjolras father, who almost faints when he saw him lying on the floor.

"Son...Oh God! What happened to you? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, dad," Enjolras said, sighing.

"Don't believe him, sir, he winced while trying to move," Éponine said with a scolding gaze towards the blond boy.

"I fell from the horse," he tried to explain but was also interrupted by some paramedics who started checking up on him. Éponine was pushed away and was hugging her sister while watching from afar. Enjolras was looking directly at her with a very hurt expression. He missed holding her hand.

The paramedics, having taken away the tattered and bloodied cardigan and putting an orthopedic neck on him, placed him on top of an orange emergency stretcher they had brought and prepared to take him away. He demanded them to stop in desperation. He called Éponine, who kneeled by his side.

"Come closer, I'll tell you something," he whispered.

"I won't forget this evening," he said, making her blush. The girl kissed his cheek in response.

"I hope you get better soon".

As they took him away, Enjolras could see how his father thanked her and she smiled at him, that big smile he had enjoyed all afternoon. Then, she turned to look at him. Éponine realized in awe that, even with an orthopedic neck, a bandage on his head and his curls all crushed by dry blood, Enjolras was still the most handsome boy she had ever seen. She bit her lip and decided to say goodbye in her particular way.

_My heart was wrapped up in clovers the night I looked at you. _

* * *

><p><strong>Hello :) First of all, happy new year to everyone 3 <strong>

**I hope you like this new idea. It's going to have 10 chapters in total and it'll be full of surprises :) By the way, the song is called At Last by Etta James.**

**Thanks for reading. **

**Feel free to leave a review. **

**Love always, **

**Seahorse VS. **


	2. Chapter 2

Éponine took the first taxi cab available from her new residence in Bois de Boulogne, a fancy park on the 16th arrondissement of Paris, to Trocadéro, the breathtaking plaza where she would often seat down and think, no matter how crowded it was.

She reflected on how two years had completely changed her life. The unpredictable and hurtful divorce completely vanished her idea and desire for marriage. Her father's rushed decision to immigrate to America permanently separated her from her beloved sister. Her mother, not wanting to be involved in a legal fight, gave up Azelma, the apple of her father's eye, in exchange of Éponine and Gavroche's custody.

Her mother's rather quick marriage with a boyfriend from her youth, a rich and powerful widower, altered her existence in every possible sense.

It all started the day in which the man decided to give them a "respectable" last name by adopting them. Once it was oficial, he radically took control over their lives. The mother, who Éponine had admired for her simplicity and sensibility, now spent her days at parties, galas, art expositions of crappy, overpriced painters, gossipy afternoons with her new "friends" and all that jazz. She would barely speak to her children and delegated all of her responsibilities to her maids and all of the important decisions to her new husband.

The man wanted her to fulfill her mother's dream of being a Prima Donna, not because of the sentimentality of the situation but because he preferred that to everything Éponine liked to sing, which ranged from jazz to rock, folk and even the modern pop songs she heard on the radio.

The shock came to her when, just after turning sixteen, it was announced that she was going to be sent to a conservatory in Rome. Her mother, who, back in the times of Montfermeil, had been so diligent about the girl's dreams, apparently didn't see any inconvenient with her stepfather's plan. She, who was more of a mother to Gavroche than what her own mother would ever be, didn't want to leave Paris, not under those circumstances, at least.

Éponine was hysterical and she took advantage of her solitude to cry. Her mother used the argument of her being able to "see the world". But she wasn't even sure she had actually seen all of Paris!

At that thought, a memory struck her like lightning.

_"Walking through Trocadéro at night...is like arriving to the doors of heaven," the blond, injured boy said with a romantic expression. She had smiled at his words, admiring how much he seemed to adore the city. _

_"If I go to Paris...will you show this to me?" she asked candidly, dreaming about a day in which her eyes could witness everything that his words described. He smiled back at her. _

_"I promise I will."_

She wiped away her tears, smiling softly at the memory and suddenly taking in all of her surroundings. The fountains, the lights, the imposing and romantic figure of the Eiffel Tower, everything was too sublime for her to be oblivious. She sat down at some stairs, staring, letting the Parisian sunset push her problems aside and ease her pains.

Her view then was fixed in a certain group of four boys, all of which were probably her age. They used the same uniform as most of her neighbors in the Bois de Boulogne: the fancy ties, moccasins, long button down shirts, vests and designer pants that constituted the dress code of the Collège Stanislas de Paris, the best private school in the country, which she had avoided at all costs, preferring to be homeschooled as she had been back in the days of Montfermeil.

They came from the 6th arrondissement, and walked from one side of the plaza to the other as they joked loudly. She was particularly drawn to them, especially one who was giving his back to her, the one whose blond curls jumped in every direction. She could hear their laughter and realized, through a careful but subtle look at their gestures, that they were actually saying goodbye. Two of the guys left together to the left, leaving the blond and a freckled brown haired boy discussing something very heatedly.

Éponine could now see a little bit of the blond's face. In her excitement, she matched it with that of her memories from that day in the forest, memories which kept her hopeful even when skepticism seemed like the best alternative. The freckled brunette patted the boy's back and left too, making the blond turn around and walk directly towards her direction. Éponine's heart stopped.

She definitely recognized him. His deep blue eyes still had that determination she had seen on their first encounter. His face was still surreally beautiful, almost like a sculpture. His figure was slender. As a whole, the boy was very handsome. Éponine blushed at her thoughts. Had he recognized her too? He came closer to her and she couldn't think of something to say to him.

Then he passed by her side without even looking at her, making her feel ridiculous and foolish. She laughed humorlessly at her own ideas. Of course it wasn't him. Anyhow, her mind managed to answer to the situation automatically and in less time than she had expected. It took her a few seconds to realize she was actually singing one of her favorite songs, which was attached to the memories of the forest.

_At last my love has come along_

_My lonely days are over and life is like a song._

Enjolras, who had just been freed from detention, walked through the Place du Trocadéro with his hands in his pockets. He loved to seat on that plaza and think. Sometimes, his mind would play tricks to him and he would find himself daydreaming about that girl, the brunette who, two years ago, had aided him in the forest. Maturity hit him harder afterwards, but the stubbornness that took him to meet Éponine was still there.

He thought about the promise he made, the promise of showing her Paris. But she never visited Paris and they never saw each other again, making that promise into his private source of dreaming. He would call himself a ninny and repress his thoughts for being too ridiculous. Now that he and his friends had started their revolutionary group with him as the leader, he decided that he needed to think about important things first.

He was in the beginning of this rant when, all of a sudden, he heard that voice again, the voice he had been replaying in his head for two years. It was Éponine's voice. The song was that same jazz that, for the same amount of time, remained in his iPod's Most Played list.

_I found a dream that I can speak to_  
><em>A dream that I can call my own<em>  
><em>I found a thrill to press my cheek to<em>  
><em>A thrill I've never known<em>

Enjolras turned around to face a growing crowd, who recorded and cheered. Éponine was getting tired and giving up. Maybe it had been a trick of her jumbled head, a figment of her imagination. Anyhow, a few people walked towards her and were delighted to hear her sing, which made her continue until the song ended. She sighed and giggled as those around her, mostly tourists and curious passers, clapped. Éponine stood up, nodding and smiling while the crowd dissipated.

Blue encountered brown and two hearts stood still at the same time. Éponine smiled widely and Enjolras was blinded by the sight of her remarkable dimples. The next thing they knew was that Enjolras' strong arms wrapped Éponine's hips while her own pulled his neck towards her. Her forehead rested on his shoulder while his cheek leaned on the top of her head. They didn't say anything for a while, just realizing that it was actually happened. The coincidence couldn't be bigger.

"Éponine," he whispered, looking into her eyes once again, finding, to his concern, that they were red from crying.

"Enjolras," she whispered back.

They couldn't find the words to convey their various feelings. They sat side by side on those same stairs, staring around, eyeing each other from the corner of their eyes. Enjolras caught himself thinking about how Éponine had grown, acquiring the curves and complexion of a woman. He blushed and looked away.

"Do you still horse ride?" she finally asked with humor. Enjolras openly laughed at her question.

"I do. And let me tell you I haven't fallen once," he replied with the same tone of voice.

"That's because I haven't been there to catch you," she answered, frowning immediately.

_I could've thought that comment through, _she mentally scolded herself.

"That's because I'm not stubborn anymore," he corrected as a matter of fact.

Éponine rolled her eyes. "Stubbornness is not a sickness. You can't just stop being stubborn," she stated.

"I am not stubborn!"

"Yes you are," she said, sticking her tongue out.

They played around for a while. Then, they proceeded to update each other on their lives.

Enjolras, who had become a very reserved young man, surprised himself by opening up to Éponine. He told her about his father's intensified traveling, which left him with his mother, who time had made shallower than ever. Every time his father was home, the woman would just complain about him, making him and his father fight, disagree and even, insult each other. He was waiting for the day in which he became a legal adult to leave the house and abandon the pathetic socialite paraphernalia.

He resented his mother because he loved her but at the same time her shallow ways made him mad and her intolerance towards everything she considered lower got on his nerves.

Éponine saw how his eyes filled with tears, which he repressed immediately. Éponine took his hand and kissed it, telling him about the divorce, her sister, the wedding and her mother's transformation. The boy was surprised, especially because of the way she spoke bitterly about her mother. He also realized she summarized everything, skipping the details and not even sharing with him the name of her new father. He didn't ask about this, though.

"You look so different without the orthopedic neck and my cardigan wrapped around your head, you know?" Éponine said, mocking him to avoid talking about her life. Enjolras rolled his eyes, making the girl giggle loudly.

"So you're perpetually making fun of me for falling from a horse?" he asked, pretending to be insulted.

"I can't help it...it's always a tempting topic to come back to," she teased.

Enjolras lowered his face to hide a smirk. "If you ask me, you look different too," he said.

Éponine raised an eyebrow playfully.

"What?" he asked in that same playful voice.

"I look different?" she asked curiously. Enjolras nodded doubtfully, guessing where would this topic exactly land.

"How so?" she pressed.

"I don't know...I guess you've...grown," he said, blushing again and, for some reason, looking directly at her chest. He scolded himself mentally.

Éponine blushed too, but laughed hysterically to avoid a very awkward scene. "You're such a boy."

"I'm almost an adult!" he exclaimed. Éponine glared at him, once again, playfully.

Éponine and Enjolras talked for hours, laughing, playing around and even debating, covering different topics until the sun was down. They didn't realize the amount of time that had gone by or how many things they had talked about. Enjolras lost the track of time by her side and Éponine felt freer. He found refreshing the fact that one minute they would be speaking about cats and the next talking about the importance of freedom of speech or the legalization of gay marriage.

When they were talking about public and private education, Éponine started shivering. Enjolras, being such an educated lad, gave her his jacket, which she deeply appreciated. Anyhow, the cold made them both realize it was very late. Éponine worried and, although his face didn't change a bit, Enjolras knew he would have a lot of trouble at home too.

"I should really get going..." Éponine said a little disappointed.

"Do you want me to accompany you to your house?" Enjolras asked expectantly. She snorted in return.

"Oh the gentleman!" she teased. He rolled his eyes again.

"I just don't want you walking on your own this la..."

"Hush, grandfather! I live quite far," she explained.

"Me too," he said, trying to sound indifferent.

"Bois de Boulogne."

"Big bourgeoise mansions," he teased. Éponine hit his arm, as she had done several times throughout their conversation. She turned to leave, secretly expecting the boy to say something else.

He didn't.

Enjolras' reaction was unpredictable even for himself. He ran up to her, grabbing her wrist to stop her from moving. They stared at each other, without even breathing, for a few seconds in which both of them decided what to do. Finally, he pulled her close to his chest, where Éponine's world would stop and Enjolras' heart would race.

Both of them knew what they wanted but they were too unsure to try and get it. Éponine, fed up with movies, songs and romance books, just wanted a kiss by the boy she had dreamt, the boy of her songs. Enjolras wished to end with the thoughts that...bugged him, pestered him since that day in the forest. He wanted to kiss that girl he knew everything about and nothing at all. He wanted to hold her very close to him, not understanding what he truly felt.

He cupped her face, caressing her cheeks, staring into her bright brown eyes. Anyhow, his determination failed him on the moment he most needed it. Instead of kissing her big red lips, his very own lips landed of both of her cheeks, very close to her intended target, where her lovable dimples appeared with her smile.

The girl blushed at the tenderness of the gesture, hiding her face on the boy's chest. He was taller, which made her feel pathetic but also safe. Enjolras took the girl's chin in his hand, softly directing her gaze towards him. Her eyes were filled with curiosity and he felt how a rush of blood to the head commanded him to follow his impulses.

Éponine's eyes widened as Enjolras kissed her neck a few times. He almost chuckles as he felt the goosebumps on her skin. She bit her lip, wondering if she should return the gesture.

Enjolras felt his legs turning into butter as the girl built a hickey on his neck. She then moved her lips towards his ear, whispering to him.

"I won't forget this evening," she said, quoting his last words that day on the forest.

Enjolras let go, smiling widely at her.

"Don't you dare to get lost again Éponine," he said as she walked away, not answering.

Éponine knew it would take a lot of time for them to see each other. She was leaving the country, wasn't she?

Seeing her disappear, Enjolras finally remembered they were actually in public when displaying their...affection. People stared at him, whispering and commenting. He sighed, rolling his eyes and walking away, trying to decipher his thoughts, which were a mix of the brunette and his revolutionary group.


End file.
